


Don't You Wonder How It Ends?

by daoniesidhe



Series: The Back Burner [3]
Category: The Lone Gunmen (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Time, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Really Bad Cooks, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 18:29:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daoniesidhe/pseuds/daoniesidhe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time, Byers is cooking something up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't You Wonder How It Ends?

**Author's Note:**

> Sadly, no beta. Which probably explains a lot of things. Still dedicated to The Rather Fetching Betty, without whom this would never have happened.
> 
> The title is, yet again, a Young Fresh Fellows song.

John Byers had been aware something was going on with his roommates for a few weeks now. It hadn't seemed like a problem at first, but lately he'd started to worry. So here he was, finally, seeing if he could stir up a solution.

He checked his watch. Just a few more props. He moved quietly around the kitchen, unearthing a box of stale Rice Krispies from the cupboard, getting out the very large jar of applesauce and the very small jar of capers he'd gotten especially for this, lining them up next to the bread crumbs and the tarragon and oregano already on the counter. He regarded the display for a moment, and impulsively added the tub of Crisco. Butter-flavored.

Byers managed to suppress a laugh, but it wasn't easy. Actually he hated to waste good food like this, especially on their budget, but at this point it seemed like the only solution. He'd thought about getting a bottle of wine but concluded it would be too obvious, and anyway it probably wouldn't be a good idea for… whatever happened… to happen while either of them were drunk. It'd cause too many complications later and the whole point of the exercise was to ease the tension, not create more.

Start at the beginning, then. With the—his stomach churned briefly—disastrous dinner Langly had, well, pretty much completely failed to make for the three of them. It probably went back further, maybe much further, but that's where Byers had noticed.

Byers had been teasing—well, almost--the next day when he'd suggested Frohike take their young roommate's growing sense of restlessness in hand. Mel's panicked reaction had tweaked his journalistic sensibilities, though, and he'd wondered, in a not-as-stunned-as-he-should-have-been sort of way, what exactly _had_ happened after he'd skipped out for the evening. Over the next few days, it became clear that nothing actually had. Nothing definite, in any event.

Frohike had found any number of excuses to be near Langly, and Langly had found just as many to avoid him. Whatever had or hadn’t happened, Langly was still restless and depressed, and on top of it now he was tense and anxious, and Byers was really worrying that he was thinking about leaving.

So Byers had come up with a plan. It wasn't a great plan, he'd be the first to admit that. It had exactly three moving parts, and while some portions of it were detailed down to the minute, others were admittedly sketchy and involved getting two of the moving parts into the same room and talking, and then just letting whatever happened happen.

He took a last look at the items on the counters, checked his watch, gave the tomato sauce another stir, and decided it was time. Using his cell, he called the non-recording landline and picked it up after two rings, cursing mildly but loudly enough for Langly to hear it down the hall. He switched his cell off and stuffed it in his pocket, all the while carrying on a conversation with himself.

"Well, yes, but…" A moment to listen, certain he'd heard Langly's door creak. "You told me tomorrow—" Footsteps in the hallway. "Well, I'm right in the middle of something… No, I know you don't schedule these things," he said, sounding annoyed. "All right. I'll see what I can do. Half an hour." He let an edge creep into his voice. "Yes, okay. Look, try to stall them." Byers put down the receiver with a bit more force than he would ordinarily and wondered if another "Dammit" would be overdoing it. Probably so. Instead, he sighed loudly and counted to five before going into the hall where he promptly ran into Langly.

"Oh, hi, Langly. Is Frohike back yet?" he asked innocently.

Langly gave him a look. They'd just finished installing the security panels in every room, after all. "Not unless he forgot to hit his check-in. What's the problem?"

He looked away, hoping to God he wouldn't start blushing. "Oh. You know that story I was working on, about the council vote buying? They had a meeting planned tomorrow, but I guess they got wind of the story, and they've moved it up hoping they can do it quietly. So I need to get out there, but I've already started dinner…"

Langly caught on, looking pissed. "And you want Frohike to cook because you think I suck at it."

Now he did let himself blush. "I just thought…"

Langly pushed him back into the kitchen. "So what were you making?"

"Just spaghetti and sauce. You know, it's really not that complicated…" He gave Langly a speculative look.

Langly glanced at the counters, a little taken aback. "You got a recipe?"

"No. I could write it out... But I really don't have time. Look, just stir the sauce every ten minutes, and ignore the rest of it till Mel gets home, okay? He can handle it."

That had a predictable effect. Langly glared at him. "Go to your damned meeting, Byers. Don't worry about dinner. I'll do it."

Still hesitating. "Are you sure?"

Langly shoved him out the door. "Yeah I'm sure. Even a fucking monkey can make spaghetti."

Byers ducked back to his room for his jacket. As he headed past the kitchen door again, the last thing he saw was Langly picking up the jar of applesauce with a puzzled look. It was all he could do to make it to his car without giggling.

He pulled out his cell, started the car engine, took a deep breath, and moved on to phase two. "Frohike? It's me. How'd it go?"

Frohike grumped. "How'd _what_ go? Look, Byers, are you sure this is the right place? I've been here almost two hours and no show."

"Of course I'm sure. But he did seem a little skittish. Maybe he's decided not to talk after all."

"Great. Okay, I'm giving up in another half hour. We can wait and see if he calls back. It didn't seem like much of a story anyhow, really."

"Well, actually… You might as well call it quits now."

"Why? What's up?"

Byers stifled the giggles and launched into his prepared speech. "Uh, I know I said I'd make dinner tonight, but something came up in the city council story, so… Langly's cooking."

"What?"

"Well, I'd already started the sauce, and the ground beef has been defrosting all day, and it's just spaghetti, how bad can it be?"

Frohike's voice, flat with dread. "I'll remind you you said that later. I suppose it's not Ragu from a jar."

"Um, no. You should probably get home as soon as you can."

"I'm on my way."

"Uh, actually, Fro—"

"What now?"

"You need to make a stop at the market first."

"Dare I ask why?"

"I, uh… I forgot to get the noodles."

A moment of silence. "You're killin' me here, Byers."

"Sorry," he said meekly.

"I get home and he's dumped spaghetti sauce over Funyuns, I'm saving a nice big plate for you."

Byers did giggle then. "Sorry, Mel."

"I hope your source stiffs you," Frohike growled, and disconnected.

Still giggling, Byers went to find dinner.

**

Frohike broke the speed limit getting home with his bag of pasta, but wisely took his time going upstairs. An out-of-breath rescue would only piss Langly off, and it was unlikely an extra thirty seconds would make a difference between edible and not.

He peered around the corner cautiously, but Langly was still upright with all his limbs, and there were no pools of blood anywhere.

"Hey, Ringo. Smells good." It actually did, though a glance at the counters was enough to alarm. Sliced oranges? What the—?

Langly glared at him. "Byers send you to take over?"

Frohike set his bag on the table. "Nope. He called me to say he forgot the spaghetti, and would I pick some up."

Langly opened the bag, suspicion fading a little. "'Cause I'm doin' fine."

"Looks like it. He leave you a recipe at all?"

"It's just spaghetti. Even I can make spaghetti."

Mel was pretty sure he'd never tried, but with the kid so agitated lately, he wasn't about to say so. "Anything I can help with? A salad, maybe?" Mel was expecting to get snarled at, or for Langly to come up with some excuse to disappear, but after a minute he shrugged.

"Whatever. If you want."

Mel smiled and started digging through the fridge. "Let's see what we've got here…" Byers had forgotten the pasta, but he'd remembered everything else. Mel couldn't remember the last time the kitchen was so well stocked. He pulled out some leaf lettuce, and some cucumbers, and some fresh mushrooms. He thought about it for a moment and put the mushrooms back and found a couple of apples instead. "Looks like you've already got a head start, with the oranges."

Langly gave him an odd look. "Uh, yeah. The oranges are for the salad, right."

It wasn't convincing, but Mel wasn't sure he wanted to know what the oranges _had_ been for. Or the applesauce, for that matter. He picked up a spice bottle, clearing space to work and not coincidentally putting some of the odder items out of reach. He surreptitiously checked the label. Cinnamon? Weird.

It didn't smell, at least, like Langly'd gotten too far along, but he was absolutely _not_ going to ask about the mayonnaise jar.

"Byers said the hamburger should be defrosted by now," he hinted.

Langly looked panicked for a second. "Yeah… Uh, you want, what, meatballs or…"

Mel let him off the hook. "Seems like a lot of work. Might as well just brown it in the frying pan and throw it in with the tomato sauce."

Langly tried not to show his relief. "Okay. It's not like the queen's coming for dinner or anything."

He kept an eye on the kid as he chopped the apples into bite-sized pieces. Langly managed to brown the meat in a reasonably competent manner, though his first efforts at getting it into the hot pan splattered his arm with small droplets of grease. Mel soaked a paper towel with cold water and handed it to him without comment.

"Thanks." Langly wiped nervously at his wrist. "This look okay to you?"

Mel picked up the wooden spoon and gave it a prod. "Gettin' there. You add all the spices you need?" he asked, holding up the oregano.

"Not yet. I kinda have my hands full here…"

Frohike stifled a laugh. "You mind if I do it? I'm gonna need a little more counter space here in a minute."

Langly glanced at the daunting array of bottles. "Yeah, okay."

The kid was watching carefully as he selected a few spices and measured them out. He didn't usually bother with the measuring, but he didn't usually have an impressionable audience, either.

"You can probably go ahead and drain that now. Then just throw it in and let it all simmer for a while."

Langly poured the grease down the sink. Mel spared a thought for the abused plumbing but let it go. It'd be easy enough to solve later.

He went back to work on the salad, peeling the orange slices. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Langly cover the sauce and then lean back against the counter to watch him. "We still have some of that red wine vinegar?"

"What? Oh. I'll check."

"And some lemon juice?"

"For, um, the salad… dressing?"

"Yeah. This'll be a little different, but it should be pretty good. Did Byers get any bread?"

Langly handed him the lemon juice. "Uh, there was, I dunno, English muffins, but I didn't see any rolls or anything."

"Odd." Mel shrugged. "I guess we can do without garlic bread."

"Didn't see any garlic, either." Langly went back to the fridge. "Hey, you know what we could do?"

Mel tried not to cringe. "What's that?"

"We could melt some of this cheese on the muffins."

"The parmesan?" Mel asked, turning around. "Good idea."

Langly froze, a box of Velveeta in his hand. "Uh, yeah, the parmesan. It's in here, behind this other stuff…" He leaned back in and Mel did his damndest not to laugh.

"Okay, you work on that, and I'll take care of the pasta."

"Gotcha."

"Hey, do we have any beer? I didn't think to get any."

Langly paused. "There're a couple bottles, but…"

Mel looked up. "Not enough to get drunk with?" he teased.

Mel thought Langly looked stricken, which was an interesting notion. "What? No. I just meant, Byers…"

"Oh, yeah, I guess we shouldn't drink the last. You know what he's like when stories don't pan out."

"Yeah. And this one's a dog."

Mel shrugged. "You can have the other one, if you want."

"I thought it was your turn to get drunk next."

Mel laughed. "Raincheck, maybe."

**

Langly helped himself to more spaghetti. Mel polished off the last of his muffin and leaned back with a satisfied sigh.

"We make a pretty good team."

Langly grinned at him. "Not bad at all."

"So what's for dessert?"

Langly looked worried. "Uh, I dunno. I didn't see anything…"

"Relax, I'm kiddin'. Couldn't eat another bite anyhow."

"Oh. Hey, I thought you were gonna teach me to make cookies."

"I thought maybe you changed your mind about that."

Langly was silent for a moment, and then it was there again, the expression Mel had seen a month ago before the kid had leaned forward and planted one on him. He wanted to laugh suddenly, it was like his brain had been dipped in ginger ale. This time, he decided, he would take the risk on himself. Langly had done enough of the hard work.

"You didn't, did you," he said calmly. "Change your mind, I mean."

Langly froze, panicked. "It's just cookies!" he yelped.

Mel did laugh, then. "You do remember. I wasn't sure you did."

Without warning, Langly was genuinely angry. "What the fuck, Fro? Why the hell are you bringing this up now?" He stood up fast enough to knock his chair over. "I know I apologized, you just want to make fun of me some more?" He headed for the kitchen door. "Why couldn't you just let it go?"

Mel sat there in shock, until he heard the door slam down the hall. He stood indecisively for a second and then went after him.

The kid was stuffing clothes into a duffel when he opened the door. Mel froze, heart in his throat. "Ringo."

"Go away," came the snarl.

He hesitated again, aware that he had to put this right or everything was over. Everything. "Ringo, please…" Hoping he could. "I wasn't trying to hurt you."

Langly came around, still furious. "You couldn't just let it go? I thought we could forget it, at least we could try… to stay friends…" The anger drained out of it and he fell onto the bed like he simply didn't have the strength to stand anymore. "Were you that worried I'd do it again?" He shook his head. "Don't worry. It'll never happen again. You're safe from me."

"Oh." Mel didn't move. "You _don't_ remember."

"I fucking kissed you." It was bitter. "And you said no. And I apologized. I just wanted… to forget it. Just to go back to how it was." He sighed, the sound making Mel ache. "I guess we can't."

Mel wanted to wrap his arms around the kid, but it probably wasn't the right thing to do at this point. "Do you remember why I said no?"

Langly snorted. "Because you're not gay, because there's someone else, because I'm me, whatever. It doesn't really matter, does it."

Finally Mel moved from the doorway, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. "Yeah, actually, it does matter."

"It's Mulder, isn't it."

"What?"

"You're already with Mulder…"

He choked down the laughter at that. "No… No. It's not Mulder. Nothing to do with Mulder."

"So it's me." The despair sobered him.

"Oh, Ringo. I wish you remembered." He sighed and carefully brushed some of the blond hair out of the kid's face. "You were drunk. That's all. That's the whole thing. I don’t have sex with drunk men. Especially not my friends." He sighed again. "Not anymore. It's never worth ruining the friendship."

Langly had frozen again, cracking one eye open, staring at Mel in disbelief. "What?" It was almost inaudible.

Mel smiled at him, but it was a little sad. "I was hoping you'd remember, hoping you'd say something… Hoping you hadn't changed your mind."

"What?" Confusion warred with the anger now. "Why didn't _you_ say something?"

Mel chuckled, finally, at the glare he was getting. "I just did. And you jumped all over me."

Langly yanked the pillow over his head—deja-vu, Mel thought—and started muttering to himself. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck…" The chant went on for twenty seconds, then thirty, before finally dropping. The pillow was pushed away just enough for him to peer out. He caught Mel's eye, pulled the pillow back hastily. Another half minute and then a sigh, the longest sigh Mel had ever heard. "I'm a fucking moron," the muffled voice announced.

Mel laughed, relieved. "Me too." He threw the pillow aside and leaned down, wrapping his arms around the kid's shoulders, resting his face against all that soft hair. "Ringo, I'm sorry. I should have said something sooner. I was afraid you'd changed your mind…" He let out a deep breath, felt it echoed, felt Langly still tense against him. "I've been thinking about that kiss for weeks, you know?" He shrugged. "I just wanted… But you kept avoiding me. I thought… I really thought you'd changed your mind."

"No." He jerked his head around suddenly, and they were nose to nose. "You're serious? You weren't mad at me?"

Mel smiled, shook his head. "Shocked. Not mad." He squeezed Langly tightly, a little giddy with the relief. He laughed again. "I sure wasn't expecting it." He kissed the strong jaw. "But I wasn't mad. Not even close."

Langly sighed again, closing his eyes. The tension dissolved from him and he relaxed completely into Mel's grasp. "God I'm a moron."

Mel shook his head again. "I'm sorry, Ringo. I should have known you were too drunk to remember everything."

A smile crept across the thin lips. "So what else don't I remember?"

"Unfortunately, that was about as far as it went."

"Yeah, because you got all ethical about drunk sex. Who knew?" He snickered. "So here we are, both sober…"

"Prove it."

Langly started to pull away until he caught the smile. He relaxed back against the pillow. "You want me to, what, close my eyes and touch my… nose?"

"Something like that.," he murmured, leaning in to kiss the nose in question. Langly moved his head slightly and Mel finally got his wish. Ringo kissed like a tsunami in tropical seas, sweeping Mel along with him in wet passion, a force so unstoppable he could only cling to the lanky shoulders and hope there'd be something left when it ended.

Their first kiss had been hungry, but this was even beyond that, as though the kid felt he had only one chance to make this happen, as though a redemption that had been snatched away was suddenly being offered again. Lack of oxygen left him dizzy, his vision strobing.

He found himself gasping, with Ringo draped across his heaving chest.

A breathless laugh. "Yeah, okay. That brought back a few memories." Ringo turned the grin on him. "You wanted to know what I kiss like sober."

"If you ever do that again…" Mel shook his head weakly. "Warn me first."

Another laugh, and Ringo settled against him, playing with his shirt hem.

"So," Mel sighed in contentment. "You've been thinking about this for a while, haven't you."

Ringo shrugged against him. "Yeah, kinda. I mean… " He shrugged again. "I wasn't planning on doing anything about it, you know? I figured you'd freak out."

Mel smiled ruefully. "Ringo."

"Yeah?"

"I'm not actually freaking out." He wrapped both arms around the kid. "So where were you thinking about taking this, assuming we got this far?"

"Ummm. Good question." He tilted his head slightly so Mel could stroke even more of his soft hair. He seemed more at ease than he'd been in weeks, and Mel was happy to just hold him for a while, feeling him breathe. Eventually, Ringo stirred, smoothing his hand across Mel's chest. "Well… There was something I've been wanting to do."

The hand crept lower. "Yeah?"

"Yeah…" The laugh was a little nervous. "Listen, Mel, if you don't really want to—"

He nearly whimpered. He grasped Langly's hand and pressed it to the front of his jeans. "Does it _feel_ like I don't want to do this?"

Langly's breath caught. "Uh. Guess not." And then he was fumbling with Mel's belt, pulling at his fly, pushing down jeans and boxers. The first touch of smooth fingertips against his cock left him panting, but he didn't have much time to savor it before he was engulfed in wet heat.

Langly's skills weren't limited to kissing. Mel moaned and twitched, trying desperately to think of baseball, his editorial, anything that'd keep him from losing it so quickly.

Ringo was having none of it, seeming to need Mel's release even more than he himself did. When wet fingers grazed his asshole and settled on his balls, Mel's back arched uncontrollably, thrusting and coming, barely feeling Ringo ease up enough to let it spill across his tongue.

"My—my God—" he gasped.

Ringo laughed as he caught his own breath. Mel opened his eyes in time to see the kid swipe a finger across his chin and lick it clean.

Mel pulled him close. "I thought you were a virgin."

The familiar snicker. "What was I gonna do, start listing guys I'd been with?"

"I guess not. Man…" He laughed a little.

Ringo grinned. "Might have gotten us here faster, though."

"Better late than never," Mel said, but he was thinking about how drunk the kid had had to get just to make that first move. He figured it'd take a long time to show how grateful he was that he had. No time like the present, he smiled, reaching for Ringo's shirt.

**

A siren from the street woke Mel, and he couldn't resist playing with the white gold hair spread across his shoulder.

"What time is it," Ringo mumbled.

Mel smiled. "Why, you got an appointment?"

Langly woke up enough to grab the clock with both hands and pull it close to his face. "Byers isn't back yet?"

Mel glanced at the LED check-in board hung on the wall. "Nope. We're still yellow."

"Man, it's almost two thirty. Hey, uh…" Langly hesitated. "You gonna stay here all night?"

"You kickin' me out?" Mel grimaced. "Ringo, this is not the right moment to tell me this was just a one-time thing for sex."

"Shit!" Langly winced. "No, no, sorry, no. No, I like you—this—I mean…"

Mel partially relaxed against the kid's shoulder. "What, then?"

"Well, I was just thinking, maybe you don't want Byers seeing you coming out of my room like this."

"Oh. I don't think it'll be a problem."

"You don't think he'll wonder?"

"No, I just don't think…" He shut his mouth with a snap.

"Mel?" Ringo waved a hand in front of his face. "You okay?"

"Yeah, fine…. I was just wondering… Byers forgot to get the spaghetti? _Byers forgot_?"

Langly blinked. "That does sound stupid, doesn't it. And what was the applesauce for, anyway?"

"The applesauce?"

"Yeah… He left all that weird stuff on the counter."

Mel groaned. "I didn't know he had that in him." He saw the confused look on Ringo's face. "I can't believe we got set up by Byers."

"Whoa… He had this planned? You think so?"

"Mayonnaise and Rice Krispies? He _forgot_ the spaghetti?"

Langly rested his head on Mel's shoulder. "Man, that's pretty devious. Especially for Byers." He thought about it some more. "I wonder why he did it."

Mel shrugged. He had a suspicion or two, but he could beat it out of John later. "I think the real question is… how are we gonna thank him?"

Langly grinned. "Let's make him dinner."

**Author's Note:**

> There's a drabble that goes with this series, but that's about it for my Ringo and Mel universe. Because once someone catches you, it's time to get off the trapeze. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed.


End file.
